Shades of Pedophilia
by notwolf
Summary: The Yule Ball worked its magic on Severus and Hermione...now what?


8

Shades of Pedophilia

(**A/N**: This was written as a favor to a friend. You're welcome, Miri. Before any of you have a coronary or write me really nasty reviews, please remember this is a PARODY of the innumerable Hermione/Severus fics I have seen posted on this site. It is meant for enjoyment only. Also, this is not the promised Harry/Severus fic—that will be coming later.)

_It was a dark and stormy night. Lightning zigzagged across the sky as thunder crashed all round the castle, deafening the students—_

"That's not how it happened. It was the Yule Ball and it was snowing outside."

Severus slowly lifted his head up from his desk, twisted his neck to see Harry peeking over his shoulder, and glared so hard his eye started to twitch. Throwing back the greasy curtains of hair from either side of his face, he flung the quill onto the desk in a huff. "Who's telling this story, Potter? Oh, that's right—I am!"

"You could tell it right," Harry muttered as he ambled to the sink to resume scrubbing the cauldrons.

"Get out."

"I thought I had detention," Harry said, even as he edged toward the door. If he left now, he might be accused of shirking his detention and forced to do even more—it was Snape's way, after all. When Snape lifted a jar from the corner of his desk, he yelped, bolted for the hallway, and disappeared into the darkness.

Severus snarled a bit more and sat back in his chair. Stupid Potter! What did he know about it? What could he possibly know about the most wondrous day ever to grace the Earth? Considering the whelp believed the day of his birth to be the most marvelous in history, he'd definitely have a hard time conceiving of Snape's dilemma: How to describe that day, the day his life had changed forever.

Severus picked up the quill and absently chewed the feathered tip. He was good with words, as long as they involved something to do with potions, or perhaps betraying the dark lord. Matters of the heart were another entity altogether. Since Lily had abandoned him, he'd never felt affection for another woman…until that day. He sighed and closed his eyes, remembering.

It was the Yule Ball, as the Wonder Brat had so aptly reminded him, and he'd been wearing his best black dress robes. Well, alright, they weren't technically _dress robes_, but they were black, and finer than the ordinary herb-smelling, gut-splattered ones he wore on a daily basis. As usual when the students were gathered for some function or other, he'd stationed himself outside the Hall to watch for unauthorized behaviour—and never failed to find it, he might add. As he blasted into the rosebushes with his wand, students squealed and ran from them; Snape gleefully took off points from their Houses. The night wore on with the typical teen antics, including a run-in with Potter and Weasley, which put him in a foul mood. And then, as midnight struck and most of the students began returning to their Houses, he saw her on the staircase, surrounded by light like an angel. Even Karkaroff's incessant whining over the Dark Mark that was reappearing on his arm couldn't dampen his spirits once he'd seen her…the One.

Clad in a flowing, periwinkle-blue dress, her sleek hair swept into a knot on top of her head, she looked like a goddess rushing down the hall toward her House. He didn't recognize her, which was odd since he knew every student at Hogwarts. He called out and she turned, and in that instant Severus' heart froze.

"Miss Granger?" he asked, cocking his head in confusion.

"Yes, Professor." She just stood there, waiting for him to say something.

Severus approached slowly, studying her to make sure he wasn't experiencing delusions. The hair wasn't bushy, but it was the right colour; funny he'd never noticed her eyes were brown. Something else was different…the teeth. They didn't buck like a jackrabbit now! "Miss Granger," he said again, feeling as brainless as he sounded.

"Yes, Professor," she repeated. "Did you want something?"

"I—I think. Never mind." He spun round and stalked down the hall, eyes wide with horror. What was he doing? She was a student, for crying out loud!

He dodged behind the next corner, waited a minute, then peeked out. She was gone; he let loose a sigh of relief. It was for the best. Struggling for a semblance of dignity, he brushed his robes down and strode into the corridor once more. After he'd made sure all the students had gone off to their Houses, he retired to his quarters, only to be tormented by thoughts of the lovely Granger in the blue dress. And when he slept, his dreams tortured him with images of her face, her shiny smooth hair, her laughing mouth minus the huge teeth.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Hermione handed her vial to Professor Snape, and his fingers brushed hers. His black orbs met hers and she felt herself blushing and pulled back, turned, and ran to her seat. Ever since the Yule Ball she'd been unable to stop thinking of him in those black robes that showed off his physique. Alright, they didn't show anything, but she'd found herself wishing they did. Was he muscular under there? Not likely, he was too thin. Wiry, maybe? With all the prowling he did around the castle, she thought it probable he was at least in decent shape. She flushed again at the thought of copping a feel under his robes.

He was talking. Immediately her thoughts focused solely on that mellifluous, deep tone that could lull a baby to sleep or calm a raging troll—when he wasn't being impossibly snarky and cruel. No, what was she saying? Ron and Harry must be rubbing off on her. He wasn't being cruel, he was trying to help them be all they could be…or something like that.

"Miss Granger!"

"Yes, Professor?" she answered, startled out of her musings to hear her classmates tittering.

"I will see you after class if it suits your Gryffindor fancy," he replied, sneering. How did he manage to pull that off and look handsome at the same time? Not classically handsome, perhaps, but in his own way.

"Yes, Professor," she repeated as she stuffed her books into her bag. She waited till the other students had left and approached his desk in baby steps. "Did I do something wrong?"

Snape paused. Merlin's great ghost, even with her hair in a bush again, she was stunning. He forced himself to look away and he picked up the vial she'd given him earlier. "This potion you handed in is absolutely perfect. I've never had a student so competent, which leads me to believe you stole it from my private stores and passed it off as your own."

"What? I never! Why—how could you think—I did not!" she sputtered in return, face flaming with indignation. She snatched the vial from his hand, twisted it, and pointed animatedly at the name engraved on the vial, as on all the rest of her pack. "See? That's my name, my vial. You saw me _make_ the potion!"

"So I did. My mistake." He returned it to the holder with the other student vials. He sneaked a peek at her and hurriedly looked away again. "That is all."

"I don't think it is," she replied in a sultry tone as she leaned in, hands braced on the desk. She stared at him as she spoke, gauging his reaction. "I see the way you've been looking at me, watching me these past weeks. For my part, I've not been able to stop thinking of you since the Yule Ball."

She jumped and whirled as the door slammed shut, but there was no one there. She turned back to him to see a hint of a smile. An actual smile! "We can't have anyone listening to such a private conversation now, can we?" He cast a _muffliato_ round them. "You were saying?"

"Oh, right. I was saying I can't stop thinking of you. I used to hate you—no, that's not true. Harry and Ron want me to hate you, but I never did. I have such respect for your mastery of your craft, even if you're not exactly…I don't know…you have a difficult time imparting your knowledge to the students."

"If they weren't nimrods, that would not be an issue," he responded in a drawl. His hand inched across the desk toward hers and stopped mere centimeters away. "You are the one student who makes teaching worthwhile. You always know the answers."

"I thought you despised that about me," she said.

"Love, hate—fine line." He cleared his throat. Her fingers scuttled forward to land on top of his, and he froze momentarily. A strange warm sensation ran through his chest; he hoped he wasn't getting indigestion from that damned pumpkin soup the elves insisted on serving every blasted night. "I'm not sure you should be doing that, Miss Granger."

"Why not?"

"For starters, you're fourteen."

"Fifteen. In some cultures, I'd have been married for three years already." Her hand squeezed his, and her fingers ran along the length of his. They were so strong from all that chopping and dicing and weed pulling. "I don't like the boys here, they're so…"

"Idiotic?" he supplied, smirking.

"I was going to say childish, but that works." She smiled at him and sat on the desk to lean in even further. "I know this is sudden, but…I…I think…" All at once she lurched forward and planted her lips on his. Warm, cinnamon spice lip gloss met clove scented pumpkin.

Severus let himself melt into the kiss before realizing what he was doing and yanked backward. Hermione tipped over onto the desk. "Miss Granger, this is unacceptable."

"Call me Hermione, please," she said, righting herself.

"You are not of age, _Hermione_," he said. Even though he'd locked the door with a spell, he found himself checking to make sure no one had come in. "I can't risk my livelihood over a kiss, no matter how delicious."

Hermione beamed. He'd thought her kiss delicious! "That's just the tip of the iceberg, Severus. May I call you Severus?"

"No."

She pouted for a second, then chattered on, "No one needs to know what goes on between consenting adults."

"As I pointed out only moments ago—were you not listening?—you are not an adult!"

"I know you care for me, I can see it in your eyes, in your body language," she retorted, unyielding. She slipped off the desk, dropped her outer robe on the floor, and did a twirl for him. Her skirt lifted up as she spun, showing off her knickers. "Does this body look like a little girl to you?"

Severus crossed his legs and averted his gaze. "Stop it. Potter sent you to torment me, didn't he?"

"Severus, you told me to stay after class." Here she leaned in again, and without benefit of her outer robe, her breasts seemed suddenly very inviting through her uniform. "I suspect you want me as much as I want you. I won't tell anyone, and I know you won't."

He felt his resolve weakening, and it was not a good sign. For his entire teaching career, he'd never once gotten involved with a student, and here came the one girl who drove him up a wall and made him want to snatch her into his arms at the same time. "I told you…not to…call me…Severus." He grabbed her biceps and pulled her in for another kiss, a long, hard snog. He let her go and fell back into his chair.

Winded but beaming, Hermione cooed, "See? Isn't it nice? Imagine how much nicer it will be when we're making love."

Severus choked on his own saliva, bending over to hack and cough till he nearly turned blue. Had she just said that? And yet, wasn't it what he'd wanted to hear? At this moment, he could imagine nothing more heavenly—or dangerous, up to and including Voldemort himself. If he gave in to her, people would begin to suspect, to question why she spent so much time in his lab. He'd be sacked, and probably put in Azkaban besides. If he didn't give in, he'd regret it forever, the one last chance for happiness in his grim life.

"I'm doomed," he moaned, motioning for her to come closer. He put an arm round her shoulders and kissed her neck. "Hermione, I won't pressure you to do anything."

"You don't need to, Severus. I'm ready to be yours."

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

"Arrrrggghhh!" Snape awoke with a lurch, his head jerking up off his desk, drool running from the corner of his mouth, his eyes wild and blinking rapidly, his breaths coming in terrified pants. He yanked from his cheek an essay that had gotten stuck in the saliva, jumped up and away from his desk, wand appearing in his hand, his back to the wall for safety. A stack of books at his elbow had come crashing down when he leapt, and he blasted the spot without even looking.

Harry spun warily from his position at the sink where he'd been cleaning cauldrons for his detention, body in a semi-crouch as if expecting the teacher to throw something at him or hex him wildly. He looked curiously at the smoldering heap of books. It wasn't like Snape to ruin a book! Or to scream, when it came right down to it. "Professor? Are you alright?"

Severus' wand aimed at the boy, trembling slightly. "Potter, I know this will strain your pea brain, but tell me the truth. Where is Hermione Granger?"

"Hermione?" Harry repeated stupidly. "Probably studying like always. Why? Do you want to see her?"

"_No!"_ Snape came forward on shaking legs to collapse into his chair. For good measure he checked under the desk and illuminated the classroom to check in the deepest recesses. All clear. He let his wand hand fall to his side and sucked in a grateful breath. It had been a dream, that's all. A hideous nightmare brought on by the stress he was under. "You may go."

"But I'm not done—"

"Get out!" Snape watched Harry run from the lab, then he stood up shakily.

Yes, he needed to reduce his stress level, and having Potter around was hardly the cure for that ailment. He could use a drink…or two…or three. In fact, after such a troubling nightmare—to be on the safe side—he ought to have himself checked out at St. Mungo's. One could never be too careful, especially when tormented by grotesque hallucinations. He might have a tumor, or he might have been badly cursed. Falling in love with the know-it-all Miss Granger? He'd rather pluck out his eyes with a grappling hook and boil them in one of his own potions!

He glanced down at the floor where the essay he'd ripped from his cheek was currently residing. Bending down, he picked it up—all twelve sheets. _Psychological Trauma Induced By Stress: Applications for Relief._ It had been well researched through muggle periodicals, although Snape admittedly thought it a load of rubbish; it even presented a fairly decent summary of muggle and magical cures which would, theoretically, alleviate said trauma. And surprise, surprise, whose name was meticulously embossed across the top? Miss Hermione Granger.

He tossed it onto his desk. Maybe he didn't need a mental competence review after all. What he needed was some sleep and some time off from these dunderheads, maybe a brew of his own to help him rest. He left the essays on his desk and went to his quarters where he drank a good dose of Sleeping Draught and settled into his bed, pulling the covers up against the dungeon chill.

His eyes fluttered closed almost immediately, and soon he was breathing smoothly and evenly. Only a short time later he began to mumble in his sleep. "Bellatrix, Lucius tells me you've finally dumped Rodolphus. You know, despite your overbearing and—let's not mince words—_insane_ attitude, you could do better. Have I told you how beautiful you are?"


End file.
